


Nothing to Dread

by allyoops



Category: Original Work
Genre: Ambiguously Underage, Christmas, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Held Down, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Object Insertion, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:53:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21791785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allyoops/pseuds/allyoops
Summary: Maisie is counting down the minutes until her shift ends, but it turns out that Santa will be expecting her to put in some overtime.Her willing participation is strictly optional.
Relationships: Mall Santa xcons Teen Elf
Comments: 4
Kudos: 194
Collections: Consent Issues Exchange 2019





	Nothing to Dread

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hellbentalright](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellbentalright/gifts).



Maisie dodged the pinching fingers and struggled to keep a smile on her face as she said “Santa will see you now.”

The father whose hands had just been up her skirt, seeking firmer purchase on the softer part of her thigh, took his kids’ hands in his like he hadn’t just been using one of them to grope her ass and led them up to the scarlet-clad figure on the towering green velvet throne.

Thirty minutes more, and she’d be able to go home. Thirty minutes and she could peel off the candy-cane-striped tights, the brief green skirt and white-furred green top, and take a long, hot shower. Thirty minutes more and her last shift of the season would be done. Then maybe she could figure out how to get a better gig before next year rolled around, and she had to suffer the doting and predatory pinches of people of all ages and sexes for another agonizing month at the mall.

Who even used malls anymore, really? Sure it was bustling now, but that’s because people couldn’t get their shit together early enough to order online. Mostly tonight’s customers were dads who told their wives they were taking the kids to see Santa one more time before the big day, which was really just a flimsy cover for the fact that they still hadn’t finished all their shopping.

They would get the picture taken in a rush, not caring if eyes were crossed or fingers were up noses or down their pants, then park the kids at the food court with a pile of candy and go running around for another fifteen minutes before settling on the towel set, scented candle and bulk-pack of wet wipes every blushing bride dreamed of someday unwrapping on Christmas morning.

She’d even seen one poor sap lugging home a gift pack of weight loss shakes and protein powders he’d got on clearance. It was deeply tempting to tell him where he could pre-order his coffin on the cheap.

But she couldn’t, cause Santa was watching.

Literally.

Shaun was the new Santa. Dan was the regular, the one she’d gotten to know her past two years doing this while the supplementary Saint Nicks came and went, and Dan she liked. He was not an inspired actor but he had a comfortable personality and he didn’t talk shit about the kids when they left, just sometimes rolled his eyes about the parents. His beard was real too, and he was pretty proud of that. Gave him an edge, he said, in this gig. Dan was all right.

Shaun’s beard was real too, but salt-and-pepper rather than snow white, and he didn’t have the same comfortable softness around the middle. He also acted like the Santa job was just a stepping stone on his ladder to bigger things, and after the second time Maisie had caught him staring at her peppermint-striped legs like he was one of the dads standing in line, she’d started giving him wide berth.

Now he was watching her, _really_ watching her, and she tried to keep the smile in place, dimples prominent (dimples were the elf’s version of a real Santa beard; you were a shoo-in if you had dimples. The HR director had outright called Maisie’s dimples “adorable” but she could get away with that cause her name was Ethel, she was seventy if she was a day, and she looked like somebody’s grandma).

Twenty eight more minutes to go.

* * *

The last family of the night was not so bad. A mom and dad and their new baby who had slept through their first try at a photo last week, screamed through their second, but had woken up from a late nap today ready to produce some pretty deep dimples of his own. The pictures were honestly cute and the parents were happy. It was a good note to end on.

Still, Glen packed up the camera in record time, chucked it in the lock box and said to Maisie “you’re going into the lockers anyway, right?” which was not even a request to lock it up, really, but she knew what he meant, and besides, clocking out ten minutes later might put her at a full ten hours today. So she dimpled, he nodded, and took off.

It wasn’t til he was fully out of sight that she realized the dolly was nowhere to be found in the little workshop building where they usually stashed it, so she was going to have to carry the lock box herself, and the thing weighed a _ton_.

She lugged it about five feet in the direction of the lockers when a deep, amused chuckle startled her into turning around. She’d thought Shaun would already have left for the dressing area by now, but apparently he’d stayed to watch from behind as she struggled to lift the box.

“It’s heavy,” she said. Like she had to defend herself against a grown man enjoying the sight of her struggle.

“Yeah I can see that.” He wasn’t looking at the box, though. “You really are just Santa’s little helper, aren’t you, Maddie?”

“Maisie,” she said, then wondered why she’d bothered. Not like she would see him again after tonight. Shaun was telling anybody who’d listen about the great opportunity somebody had put him onto in the Caribbean, or maybe it was the Bahamas; it changed a little every time. His flight left tonight, though, he’d been pretty definite about that. Because of how cheap it was to fly through Christmas.

The idea of Shaun leaving the continent in any direction was enough to make you believe in an actual Santa.

But he wasn’t rushing off to catch his flight just yet. He was studying her, the way she was breathing hard from the weight of the case, and though he pretty clearly liked what he saw, she wasn’t sure she did. Then he seemed to snap out of whatever had taken hold of him, and gave an almost friendly nod in the direction of the case.

“Here, let me grab the other end.”

She watched, startled, as Shaun did the first altruistic thing she’d seen since he came on board a month ago.

“Really? I mean,” hearing how rude that sounded, “thanks.”

“Sure, just don’t make me do all the work, here.”

She caught the handle on the opposite end and lifted the case. Purposely ignored the way he was staring at the way her upper arms compressed and lifted her chest, giving her way more cleavage than nature had ever seen fit to bestow. He wanted to be a creep, fine. At least he was being a useful creep, and she’d be out of here soon enough.

Carrying the case with Shaun’s help, she backed toward the door marked ‘Personnel’ and bumped it open with her hip. Glen had the code to the safe and she did not, but she didn’t let that bother her. The case could wait outside the door, and that would be _his_ job to explain in a couple days. Maisie set her end down with finality and nodded to Shaun.

“Thanks. See you.”

She started toward the female staff change room, but Shaun caught hold of her in a grip that startled her: his hand was hard, and locked around her upper arm like it was nothing more to him than the handle of the camera lock box.

“Hey,” he said, “what kind of gratitude is that?”

She stumbled back a step.

“What do you—”

“That thing is _heavy_. And you’re just gonna run out of here like that? I think I deserve a little more than a ‘thanks’ don’t you?”

Maisie could think of a few things she wanted to give him, but none more than she wanted to just get out of there. She tried to find the patience she would if this were a relative or her actual boss or maybe an extra demanding teacher whose class she needed to bring up her average.

“Right. Sorry. I’m tired, and it just . . . thank you, Shaun. Really. I appreciate it. Merry Christmas.”

He smiled a little, the beard drawing up at the edges of his grin. “Well that’s a start. Now how about a little sugar?”

He tapped his cheek and she recoiled in surprise. But he still had hold of her arm, and . . . well what the Hell, if it would get him to let her go.

She leaned in and pressed an awkward, dry kiss to his cheek just above the beard. He chuckled deep in his belly, a dark and entirely un-Santa sound.

“Mmm. Now how about you try it a little to the left?”

But Maisie decided this was going nowhere good in a big old hurry, so she hauled off and kicked him in the shin instead. It couldn’t have hurt much: she was wearing shitty felt and cardboard elf booties, after all, and he had those pleather Santa boots covering most of his calves, but the shock of it was enough to startle him into loosening his grip and she twisted free completely.

Instead of running farther into the staff area, she turned and ran back out into the main concourse. The nearest door was down a corridor that lay just opposite Santa’s village. The bus stop was just beyond it, and there were bound to be a few people ending their shift at this time. She couldn’t picture Shaun pursuing her right into a crowd.

He was chasing her now, though.

She could hear his boots clunking on the floor, the angry, jumbled, irrational accusations—ingratitude, yes, but also something about her teasing, about how she knew what she was doing and he wasn’t going to let her get away with waving that sweet ass under his nose without giving him a piece of it—and she tried to run faster.

She’d have been better off slowing down. The cardboard sole skidded on a polished tile, her leg went out from under her at a really terrible angle, and she pitched sideways into a drift of artificial snow.

After that he was on her, hands locking around her wrists, angry face filling her vision, and the panic that had flared inside her kindled to an inferno of fear.

* * *

He’d been into that girl from the moment he met her at orientation. She was just his type, improbable as it seemed. He was forever cursing the porn industry cause girls like that were in such short supply: he was into some really weird old fashioned shit, dainty little blonde things with rosy cheeks and dimples, like sugarplum fucking fairies. The kind of girl who looked like she belonged in an old pinup wearing nothing but an apron and a demure blush.

Maisie was just the right kind. Neat little waist above lovely, feminine hips. Tits just big enough to fill a palm, and big dark eyes that were staring up at him now from the fake snow in the most cock-hardening expression of virgin terror.

“Fucking tease,” he growled, and kissed her, hard, like she deserved to be kissed. Right on that bright red Cupid’s bow mouth.

She shrieked into his beard. He growled back, grinding his erection against her thigh so she could feel it: understand just how far he planned to take this tonight. A wet, frightened sob escaped, and he smiled. She was a smart one, all right. She knew where this was going.

“You know what that little ass of yours does to a man?” Keeping one hand manacled around her wrists, pinning them into the springy faux-bank above her head, he used the other to grip one plump ass cheek and squeeze illustratively. “Walking around in that little skirt? Bending over in front of him? Makes him want to fuck you.”

His gaze dropped to her neckline, fluffy with white fake fur.

“Bet your tits do the same.”

His free hand popped open the gold plastic buttons and revealed a brief, creamy lace bralette. He should _not_ know that thing was called a bralette, but he’d been working in a fucking mall for a month, Chrissakes. He’d been ogling the baby titties on the lingerie store mannequins for way too long not to know that the thing Maisie was wearing right now was for damn sure a bralette.

And she was too near to being a woman not to know what he wanted to do to her at the sight of it.

Her eyes darted side to side, as if seeking assistance. None was forthcoming, but he knew he couldn’t count on that being the case forever. And if he got to take his time with her a bit, he didn’t want to have to run off at the first appearance of a janitor or night guard or whoever. So he took his cue from her, got to his feet and hauled her onto hers with one hand—then dove to catch her when she pitched over again with a wail.

“The fuck?” he snarled, and went to smack her just for the spite of it, but then saw it was one leg in particular she favored. The one she’d slid onto when she pitched over into the snow.

He grinned.

“You break that?”

“N-no,” she whimpered, standing just barely on her toes, keeping most of her weight on the other side.

“Sprained it, then.”

She ducked her head. Adorable.

“Right. Well that makes my night a little easier, doesn’t it? Not like you can run away from me now, so you might as well make nice. Come on.”

He steered her toward the workshop, a flimsy particle board thing barely bigger than an outhouse, painted and decorated to look like a gingerbread cottage. Inside was an extra stash of the fake snow, in case anything got too trampled on and needed a quick replacement.

Or in case you needed a place to push a tight-assed, wide-eyed teenager down onto her back and get her ready to take your cock in your own good time.

There were little windows cut in two walls that let in just enough light for him to still make out the look on her face. She was a fucking treat, all flushed and fuckable, a bright green jewel on soft white snow. Her chest rose and fell, sweet little apple cheeks flushed bright pink and her lips parted slightly in obedience to her pain and fear.

He knelt between her knees, and ripped open the striped tights right at the crotch. She yelped, but he ignored her, making equally short work of the little cotton panties underneath.

Beyond that . . . he pressed his nose between her thighs and inhaled. Noisily.

“Ohmygod,” she mumbled, trying to scoot back. He simply grabbed her hips and tugged her forward, aiming to give the bad one an extra wrench while he did. Her thin scream trailed off in a whimper that went right to his dick.

“You’re not going to give me any more trouble over this, Maisie,” he warned. “Not when I can give you that much more. You got that? Just lie back and take it like a good girl, and who knows? You might even enjoy it.”

“Oh my _God_ ,” she moaned, which he took as denial of the likelihood that such a thing could happen, but she also raised her arms and crossed them over her face, which he took as a gesture of surrender. Good enough. The posture also lifted her breasts like an offering, so, bonus.

The bralette he pushed up almost gently. It was the nicest thing she wore, a soft, feminine little garment that did not match the utilitarian fabric of her panties. Something just perfect for an almost-grown woman, still dainty, but ripe with a much lusher promise.

Her tits were made to match it. Soft, perfectly rounded little globes, each tipped with a pale pink nipple that blushed a deep red with only a little attention from his lips. He wanted desperately to bite, to mark her, to make those pretty tits light up with evidence of his being the first to claim them, but he held off. There was so much more of her left to explore, to enjoy, that he hated to rush it right to the screaming part. It was unlikely she’d ever be shouting his name, but he was pretty sure she was woman enough that he could make her moan a little.

He decided to test that theory.

Back to her pussy, hidden modestly in the workshop’s shadows. He explored it mostly by touch, fingers tweaking the soft curls she had at least enough sense of maturity to keep trimmed—or, as he felt the sweet, soft smoothness of the skin around them, waxed.

What a thoughtful little elf she was.

He lowered his head to work her over with appropriate gratitude. Never mind she’d been so short with him, when he’d done her such a favor earlier. He was Santa? Let him set a good example. Let her see how it ought to be done. How you made nice to somebody who did shit for you. He pressed soft kisses to the demure little fold of her pussy, lapping and teasing the little hood over her clit until her breathing came short and shallow.

Oh, good girl.

He wanted to bring her over right now, but found willpower enough to hold off. She owed him for earlier, and there was no way his dick was going anywhere near those teeth, so he had to improvise. He went up on his knees between her thighs and smiled down at the glazed, starry look on her face. Dumbstruck. Now that was more like it.

“You’re not going to like the next part, Maisie,” he predicted. “But that’s okay. Your little sugarplum’s just ripe and ready for this, and you’ll figure out a way to get through it. Still, it’s Christmas and all that, so I thought I’d better make sure you were really ready.”

He pressed the head of his cock to the damp, tight crease of her entrance. The expectation of what lay beyond was almost enough to make him nut on the spot, but a little deep breathing of his own and he got himself under control.

“If you don’t want me to fuck you, Maisie, I won’t.”

Faint hope flickered across her face, chased by skepticism. She was a clever one, his little elf.

“My only condition is this. I honestly don’t trust you to tell me the truth, so we’re going to let your body decide. If you don’t want me to fuck you, just lie there, do nothing, and I’ll believe it. But if you _do_ want this cock inside you,” he leaned in over her, enjoying every flutter of those thick dark lashes, the way her dimples appeared when he pressed menacingly forward and she tightened her lips in fear, “I want you to come.”

He gave her just enough time to register what he’d said, then lowered his gloved hand to her pussy and tickled the adorable bud of a clit that had risen in charming response to his earlier attention. A girl could say no all she wanted, but no man could refuse when she had a sweet little pussy so willing to say yes. And Shaun was not, in fact, Santa: he was a mortal man with mortal needs, and right now he needed to be inside that little pussy mortal bad.

So he stroked his thumb over her clit with devastatingly slow intention. The friction from his glove must have teased and stung in equal measure, but her pussy knew what it needed, and she was not equal to resisting its desire.

She was breathing faster again, shallow and soft. Her little noises were getting louder, and he imagined how frightened she must be at the realization that she was not going to be able to stop it, to prevent her body from begging for a fuck no matter how much she thought she didn’t want it.

He forced himself not to rush, not to hurry, to keep it slow and awful, and maximize her awareness of what was building inside her. When she broke at last, she sobbed in earnest. Her thighs quivered and the mouth of that bewitching little cunt fluttered against his fingertips, all dainty feminine invitation despite its mistress’s fiercest efforts to repel him.

“What a good little pussy you have,” he grinned, and dipped the head of himself in her slick like he was wetting a candle wick. “Little cunts always know what they’re meant for, even when bratty teenage girls don’t. Here, Maisie. Let’s give you want you really want.”

He got to watch her face as he pressed inside her, and he did so with almost perfect confidence that he was the first man to force that cunt to blossom around him. Her face was a picture, sparkling with trace remnants of gold glitter makeup and fresh tears. Her hair framed her angel face like a halo, and he watched her dimples deepen in tandem with his own invasion of that fresh, untried little puss.

“You’re a fucking vision,” he growled, and he meant every word. “God. So ripe and ready for me. Just made to be fucked.”

She shut her eyes and wept.

He let her have her little moment, unbothered by her desire to shut him out. He was in where it counted, after all, and her cunt gripped him like it never wanted to see him go. Even drawing back to thrust deeper was a struggle, though she made it worth the effort when her eyes flew open and her lips parted in a thin, wordless shriek. He could see every inch of him written on her face, and it was glorious.

He wasn’t going to last long, but he was pretty sure she had one more orgasm in her and he wanted her to have it before he was done. Call it Christmas charity, or whatever. Mostly he just wanted her to know she wanted it more than she thought. So he thrust slow and gentle, though she didn’t thank him for it, and stripped off his glove this time before he found her clit again.

She was soaked. Soaking him, soaking herself . . . the wetness of her was incredible. She was so fucking ready for this. He pressed remorselessly down on her clit, that sweet, obliging little treasure right at the top of her perfect pussy, and tested a few different rhythms before he found the one that made her writhe just right.

“That’s my girl,” he panted, picking up his own pace in response to her squirming. “My fucking hot little elf. You’re helping me out so nice, Maisie. That little pussy of yours is doing it just right. Taking my cock, every inch, like a good girl.”

He had to stop petting her at that point. Needed both his hands to pin her wrists to the snow, driving her down deep into the drift, hammering into her with his full weight. She cried out, helpless against both pain and pleasure as his pelvis continued to ram against hers, mashing the bud of her clit into full flower.

“Take it, Maisie,” he ordered, pounding into her. “Fucking take it all—”

She screamed, and came. Cunt clutching at him, greedily, obediently, so that he couldn’t hold it back any longer. He drove to the very depths of her and filled her with everything he had to give.

And she took it all.

Just like she’d been told.

* * *

Maisie didn’t pass out, exactly. But she was not fully herself when he finished, she knew that much. He had left at some point. Disappeared. Well, he did have a plane to catch. But it still took her a while to sort out what he had left her with. There was a cool draft between her legs, like something important had been taken away. There was something wet . . . and sore.

So very sore.

Her leg, maybe. That definitely still hurt. But this was a deeper feeling, a fullness and ache all in one, and it didn’t really come to her until she tried to sit up and realized her tights were torn and something wet was spilling sluggishly out from between her legs.

Instinctively she snapped her thighs shut, then quickly spread them again when a strange cramp lit her up bright and painful from within.

Gingerly, almost fearfully, she reached down and her fingers encountered an object. Hooked and smooth on one end, the other disappeared right inside . . . her cheeks got hot as she pulled it out, ignoring the scrape and sting.

She held it up before her face and her eyes took a minute in the gloom to make the object out.

A candy cane, still fully wrapped, the pre-printed note manufactured by the mall still attached with a scrap of plastic ribbon. It was too dark to actually read the words but she didn’t have to see the red-and-green script to know what it said: she’d handed these out by the hundreds every day, so she knew the note by heart.

_Merry Christmas from all of us here at Santa’s village!_

_We hope you come again._

**Author's Note:**

> This pairing seemed so seasonal I couldn't resist a treat! Hope you enjoyed.


End file.
